


Catch

by Million_Moments



Category: Death in Paradise
Genre: Gen, Humour, Pointless, Shippy if you Squint, TV Tropes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-13
Updated: 2014-09-13
Packaged: 2018-02-17 06:52:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2300477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Million_Moments/pseuds/Million_Moments
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They hadn’t spent an awful lot of time covering this subject during his first aid course</p>
            </blockquote>





	Catch

**Author's Note:**

> This is a bit of a trope plot, but I thought what the hell, might as well be the first to write it this fandom! (At least I think I am) Points if you spot the reference to an Armstrong and Miller sketch.

Sometimes, when he was feeling particularly harassed, Richard would find ways to get everyone else out of the station, leaving him to man the place alone. In the early days, this was because he needed to think in a nice, quiet environment. In London, he might have just gone for a walk up and down the street – out of the office and the noise of the other Detectives in the bullpen. That didn’t work in Saint Marie, as he was nearly always tailed by Camille – who apparently liked to know what he was thinking at all times. It wasn’t so bad though, eventually he got used to it – in fact bouncing ideas off Camille became more effective than his old methods.

Now, he largely got rid of them because he wanted to be able to stick the air conditioning up to full without feeling guilty when he spotted Fidel shivering. Not to mention the lectures and dirty looks from Camille, who had read some article about the carbon emissions that would be given out by a system as ancient as the stations, and now thoroughly disapproved of it. Richard wasn’t a climate change doubter, in fact he had once even dared to give his father a lecture about the difference between weather and climate after he had looked at the snow storm one winter and said ‘whatever happened to global warming, eh?’. No, he agreed the human race needed to take concerted action against carbon emissions, but sometimes he just wanted _not_ to feel like he was boiling to death. And surely one hour a couple of times a month was nothing in the grand scheme of things?

So he sent them all off. Though, the remembrance of Camille spurting out all her little facts made him feel guilty enough that he found a carbon offsetting website and invested in a project that made energy efficient cook stoves in Western Africa that only used one third of the charcoal a normal cook stove did. It wasn’t the sort of information he was willing to admit though – so it still became necessary to send them all off. He was pretty sure Camille had figured out the pattern of him being alone in the station and the current temperature, but she hadn’t said anything yet.

Today’s excuse was an interview with a tourist who only spoke French (no point him going, then) for Camille and Dwayne to handle, and Fidel off at the airport to drop off evidence for the next flight to Guadeloupe. Richard was just about to enjoy his first cup of tea in a long time without risk of it inducing heat stroke, when a woman stumbled through the door. A very large woman, who looked really rather hot herself. Richard quickly realised her sheer size was due to pregnancy, as opposed to weight, and felt a little guilty. The manners drilled into him quickly kicked in and he rose, hurrying round his desk to offer the woman in question a seat. She collapsed into it before he could open his mouth to invite her to sit down.

“Are you, um okay?” Richard asked, suddenly wishing Camille was here. Or Dwayne. Or Fidel – he was pretty sure any of them would be better at dealing with a woman in apparent distress than he was.

“I think…” she began, but whatever she was planning to say was cut off by quite a long cry of pain. Richard stared at her in alarm. He then shut his eyes, and shook his head, assuming this was some sort of nightmare and he would wake up shortly. However when he opened his eyes the woman was still there, panting slightly.

“Sorry, I seem to be in labour,” she explained. Richard didn’t know much about woman, but he _had_ been able to surmise that. Still, there was no need to panic, generally labour took quite a long time, didn’t it? She probably just needed a nice place to sit down and wait for somebody to come give her a lift to the hospital. Perhaps Dwayne and Camille would be back soon with the car. No need to panic. He should probably say something instead of just staring at her.

“Gosh,” said Richard, sounding like a bit of an idiot. “Stairs must have been a bit of a challenge for, um, a woman in your condition. Can I get you a glass of water?”

“Yes, that would be nice.” He opened the fridge and fetched the bottle right from the back he normally reserved for emergencies. He felt she deserved it. It did take him a minute or two to find a clean glass though. When he held it out, she didn’t take it, because she was busy biting down on her tongue presumably due to another contraction. Richard felt a flare of panic and dropped the bottle in shock. He was pretty sure those two contractions were close enough together that she should be in hospital. He stooped to retrieve the water and when he stood upright again found himself being observed with some concern.

“Are you okay,” she asked him.

“Me?” Richard said, attempting to put on a brave face. “Never mind me, you’re the one in labour!”

“Yes, it does seem to be progressing a bit faster than expected. Mind this is baby number five, the other four are at school. This one was a bit of a surprise, and I suppose my labours _have_ been getting progressively shorter…”

Richard swallowed. He didn’t know what was scarier: her admitting that her labour was progressing quickly, or the idea of having _five_ children. “When did they, uh, start?”

“Oh, maybe an hour ago, I am afraid it took me fifteen minutes to get up the stairs once I realised the contractions were getting quite close together,” she saw Richard reach for the phone, he was of course intending to call for an ambulance. And anybody, _anybody_ , else who could arrive and help him no longer be involved in this situation. She reached out to grab his wrist, and unfortunately at that moment she had another contraction causing her to squeeze it really rather tightly. “Sorry,” she apologised after what seemed like an agonisingly long time. “I just meant to stop you from calling an ambulance. Did that at the bottom of the stairs you see, I am sure they will be here soon. Thought this would be a sensible place to wait!”

“Of course,” said Richard, sincerely wishing she had instead chosen to carry on having contractions in the middle of the market. There were probably at least 80 people down there more qualified to deal with this situation than he was. They say there in a strange sort of silence whilst Richard desperately tried to think of something to say.

“Do you, um, have a partner you’d like me to call?”

She shook her head, “I’ve done that.” They went back to silence. “Oh dear,” the woman said, just as an odd smell reached Richard’s nose. “I am sorry but my waters appear to have broken.” She no longer sounded as calm as she did before.

“Right,” said Richard. “But the ambulance is coming, right?”

She didn’t answer immediately, well not with anything comprehensible, as she was busy having another contraction, “Yes, but at the time the contractions were ten minutes apart so they might not exactly be hurrying. Oh God, I am going to have to have the baby here! I can’t believe I am going to have a baby in a police station!” There was a definite note of panic in her voice. It did not help Richard in his mission to stay calm. She slid from the chair to the floor, causing Richard to frown.

“What are you doing?” He asked, unable to stop the fact his voice had risen an octave. He had reached for the phone again, realising he might want to call the paramedics again and let them know to get here ASAP.

“What do you _think_ I am doing,” she snapped back. It was quite a transformation from a few minutes earlier, but he supposed she was in pain and he couldn’t blame her entirely. “I am having a baby! What are _you_ doing?”

“Calling the paramedics again!” They wouldn’t be having this issue if she’d let him do it two minutes ago.

He noticed she was wriggling out of her underwear, so turned around promptly whilst dialling the paramedics. “Don’t turn around!” She shouted at him. “You’ll see a lot worse than _that_ in a minute.” Another contraction hit. “Ok,” she said at the end of it. “I didn’t push that time but pretty soon I am going to _have_ to. You are going to have to take a look.” Richard just stared at her, still holding the phone in his hand – he had never hit the dial button. “Come on, surely you have done first aid courses?”

Yes, of course he had. Rather long and extensive ones repeated every three years – but in none of those courses had they spent anything more than ten minutes on child birth. It had largely been ‘call an ambulance and let them deal with it’. Let’s face it, in London, you are never far away from medical personnel. But delivery had been covered, very briefly. “Um, yes,” he said, after what had probably been far too long a pause. “I seem to remember it largely being just a case of catching…”

“Catching?” she repeated faintly. Then, more loudly, “Catching? You call delivering _my child_ catching?”

“I’ll call the paramedics, I am sure they can provide me with additional advice.”

“You do that! Oh God, here we go…”

Richard, attempting to remain calm, finally actually dialled 999, and was put through to the ambulance service quickly. He explained the situation, and the woman on the other end of the line said, “OK, Sir, my name is Theresa. I am afraid the ambulance is struggling to get there due to traffic, but by the sounds of it she is going to have to give birth where she is. An emergency midwife is also on her way. But don’t worry Sir, I will talk you through it – it is pretty much just a case of catching the baby.”

“See, I said that to her, and she didn’t react well,” he muttered into the phone – thinking the woman in question would be too distracted by the latest contraction to hear him.

“You told her that!” The paramedic said on the other end of the line, shocked. Was Richard destined to anger every woman he spoke to today? “It is also very important to try and keep the mother calm, have you have no first aid training, you’re a police officer aren’t you?” Yup, he’d definitely made her angry. “Ok, tell her it is going to be ok, she’s done this before after all.”

Richard attempted to obey, “Um, listen,” he said to the woman. “It’s going to be okay.”

“Use her name,” Theresa advised him.

Well, this was embarrassing. He hadn’t actually asked, or even introduced himself. “I don’t know it,” he admitted to Theresa, hoping she wouldn’t make him ask.

“You are about to deliver this woman’s child, find out her name!” Came back her unequivocal reply. “And tell her yours!”

“So, um, I’m Detective Inspector Richard Poole,” He winced, and at the other end of the phone the paramedic sighed and the woman giving birth whose name he didn’t know gave him what he could only describe as a dirty look. That was a far more formal introduction that was appropriate. “What is your name?”

“Erica,” she said. “And I think I can feel the baby’s head. God I need to push.” She proceeded to do just that.

He didn’t need to repeat that, the paramedic heard him. “Right you need to take a look after this contraction is over, see if she is fully dilated and if you can see the baby’s head.”

Richard felt this was the sort of thing you should _ask_ before doing. Still clutching the phone like a lifeline and occasionally glancing desperately at the door hoping any of this fellow officers would return, he cleared his throat and asked, “Um, do you mind if I, you know, examine you for…err…”

The woman hiked up her skirt and said “Just get on with it! Don’t worry, after doing this four times I don’t have that much dignity left so don’t be shy.”

Richard braced himself, knelt down, and looked just long enough to see that yes, the top of a baby’s head did seem to be visible. He told this to Theresa on the phone, and received instructions to encourage Erica to give a nice big push on the next contraction. “Get ready to support the head, and you are also going to have to check and make sure the umbilical cord is not wrapped around the neck.”

“Right, get ready to push,” Richard told Erica. He wondered if it was too late to run and get some gloves from the crime scene kit, he supposed he shouldn’t really leave her alone at this key moment. With the next contraction, Richard watched with fascination, and a fair amount of disgust, as the baby’s head began to emerge. Pretty soon it was out, but the rest of the body wasn’t. It looked rather comical, actually. “Just the head is out!” Richard said, panicking. For some reason, this made Erica laugh, despite how bloody exhausted she looked.

“That’s normal,” Theresa reassured him. “The rest of the baby will probably be delivered with the next contraction. Now did you check for that umbilical cord?”

“Oh!” He cried, feeling awful that he had forgotten. He held the phone in place with his chin and with a grimace he felt gently around the neck and was able to confirm the cord was not there.

“The next contraction is coming,” Erica moaned.

Richard maintained his support of the head, but then watched with some trepidation as the baby began to physically spin as he or she exited. “Uh, they are turning over, what do I do?”

“That’s normal!” Theresa said hurriedly. “Just catch! The midwife has just parked by the station and you won’t be on your own for long.”

So he caught.

 

* * *

 

 

“We’re probably back a bit earlier than the Chief is expecting,” Dwayne said with a cheeky grin as they began to ascend the stairs to the stations.

“Yeah, what do you want to bet he’s got the air con up full blast, and his head stuck in the fridge?” Camille asked huffily. Richard wasn’t fooling anybody when he sent them off on errands like he had this afternoon – but she figured he did deserve a break every now and then.

“That isn’t a bet I’m willing to take!” Dwayne joked.

Just then, he stumbled, as a woman in uniform with a large bag suddenly barged past him legging it up the stairs. “Sorry!” She called breathlessly over her shoulder before running into the station.

“Was that a nurse?” Dwayne asked, bemused. Camille realised that yes, it had been a medical uniform of some kind, and felt a momentary flare of panic. She didn’t answer Dwayne’s question, instead running up the stairs after the woman.

She entered the station and the scene she observed was a woman, legs apart on the floor with Richard kneeling between them looking slightly sick, whilst the nurse or whoever she was appeared to be examining Richard’s suit jacket on his desk. She said the first thing that came to mind, “What the hell is going on?”

 

* * *

 

 

On reflection, when Richard considered the angle at which Camille viewed the scene, he could understand her shock. Still, he was hoping for tea and sympathy rather than what seemed initially quite like anger. Even when the situation was calmer, with the midwife taking care of the afterbirth and cutting the cord, Camille and Dwayne spent all their time cooing over the baby girl rather than checking on him. Actually, he supposed that was the correct order to do things in, now he thought about it. But they could have checked he was okay _once_.

Once the baby was out, he’d been instructed to give her to the mother to keep warm. But the baby had seemed quite slimy and disgusting to him, so he had gallantly sacrificed his jacket to wrap the baby in. The midwife had then rushed through the door and had to pick her up to check things like if she had all her fingers and toes, he presumed, and then Camille had arrived. Then the paramedics had _finally_ turned up (at the same time as a rather bemused Fidel, who had been caught in the same traffic jam they had) and carted mother and baby off to the hospital.

“Man, that lady got a real cute one!” Dwayne said, leaning back on his chair. “Not cute enough to make _me_ want any of my own mind.”

Fidel and Camille both sniggered at that. Richard hadn’t really gotten a good look at the baby without any gunk on it, so he wasn’t really qualified to comment. “Wait until my mother finds out,” Camille said. “It’s sure to lead to one of her lectures about how she wants grandchildren.”

“Hmmm, Juliet has always made it clear we won’t be stopping at Rosie,” Fidel added. Richard sort of wished they would stop talking about babies, it was making getting rid of the very disturbing images of the birth out of his head a much more difficult task. “What about you Chief?” Fidel asked.

“What?” He said, mentally shaking himself when he realised he was being spoken to.

“Has the experienced changed your feelings about children, at all…?” He sort of trailed off, clearly regretting asking the question. Camille and Dwayne were giving him ‘you’re a bit of an idiot’ looks as well.

Richard didn’t have enough mental energy to know if the experience had changed the way he felt about having children, but there was one thing he knew for certain, so he said that instead, “All I know is that I never want to see a woman give birth again.”

“Ha!” Camille cried. “If you think you’re getting away with pacing the corridor like in some period drama when it’s your turn you have another thing coming.” There then followed an awkward pause, during which Dwayne grinned openly and Fidel hid a smile before his cup of coffee. It was eventually filled by Camille continuing, with a trace of colour in her cheeks, “Because no modern woman would allow that these days, you know…”

The very thought made Richard feel queasy, and he found himself suddenly being inspected closely by the other officers. “Sir, are you okay?” Fidel asked.

Despite Richard thinking for a long time that somebody should ask him that, his initial reaction was to become instantly defensive – he really was pathetic at dealing with feelings. “I’m fine,” he snapped, before turning and staring at his computer screen. Camille came over, causing him to realise the bloody thing had gone to sleep a while ago.

“You know, Sir,” she said gently. “It is nearly the end of the day and I suppose, for you, it has been rather an eventful one. Why don’t I buy you a drink?”

Richard thought about that. “A drink would be nice.”

“Yes,” Camille said, giving him an encouraging sort of smile as he rose from his chair. Dwayne and Fidel began gathering up their things as well. “A nice cup of tea.”

He paused, before saying honestly, “I might need something stronger than tea…”

“Don’t worry Chief!” Dwayne said brightly, slapping on the back. “I’m sure that can be arranged.”

 

* * *

 

 

Catherine was delighted by the story of Richard delivering a baby in the station. Not that he told it, he wasn’t willing to relive it yet, Camille shared most of the details making the whole thing sound rather dramatic. She hadn’t even been there. Catherine clapped her hands, “We need to, how do you say in English, wash the baby’s head?”

“Wet the baby’s head,” he corrected automatically.

“Yes, that, I’ll go get the rum.” She sashayed off, and Richard frowned. He didn’t _want_ rum, but if it was the strongest alcohol he could get, he would put up with it for now. Might be the only way he slept tonight. He brightened up considerably when Catherine returned not only with rum, but with an 18 year old bottle of Glenfiddich. “I thought you might prefer this, Richard,” she explained. “You certainly deserve it!”

“Well, thank you,” he said. He knew that it wasn’t exactly the cheapest bottle on the planet.

“No, really,” Catherine said insistently. “You did very well. I am sure delivering babies is a little out of your comfort zone…” A good couple of miles, yes. “…But you did it and I am sure that mother is very grateful as well!”

“Well, you know, I am a professional,” he said, trying to sound self-effacing. “It’s my duty to, you know, help people in distress.” That sounded pretty lame, even to him.

“You did far better than I would have Chief!” Dwayne said honestly. “I wouldn’t have even known where to start.”

“Yeah, what exactly _did_ you do?” Camille asked.

“Well,” he said, leaning back and suddenly feeling like some sort of expert of delivering babies. “It’s pretty much just catch.” Whilst Dwayne and Fidel nodded as if this was a wise and accurate analysis, he received looks from both Camille and Catherine that had him hurrying to qualify the statement with, “Because, you know, the woman does so much of the hard work….Um, any chance of that drink?”

Thankfully, that seemed to satisfy the women. Catherine cracked open the whiskey whilst Dwayne and Fidel got busy preparing the rum. “I’m actually most impressed you gave up your jacket for the baby,” Camille admitted. Richard was glad _somebody_ understood what a sacrifice that had been. “I mean, given how weirdly attached to your suits you are,” she teased.

He sighed, “It was actually my favourite one…”

“Well don’t worry,” came a familiar voice from behind Richard that caused him to jump out of his skin. “I’ve had a friend drop it off at the dry cleaners, and then it will be returned to you.” He turned around to find that, yes, it was Erica (and a very tall, well-built man he presumed to be her husband) at the table, baby now more appropriately dressed in those little baby suit things all new-borns seem to wear. Richard’s first thought was that Erica’s husband had come to punch him for seeing parts of his wife no other man should, but quickly realised this could not be the case when he proceeded to shake Richard’s hand firmly and thank him sincerely for helping his wife out.

“They’ve let you out of the hospital already?” Richard asked, a bit shocked. Truth be told, he was really hoping to _never see the woman again_. He certainly couldn’t look her in the eye yet.

“Well when a birth is normal release times are usually pretty quick.”

“I wouldn’t exactly call the birth normal…”

She smiled, “The location was a little different, but the actual birth itself was pretty textbook. Believe you me, I’d done it four times before.” At that moment, the baby woke, smacking its lips. “Ah, she needs a feed.” Richard swallowed – he fully supported a woman’s right to breast feed in public, a right also enshrined in law thanks to the Equality Act 2010, but he was starting to worry it was all going to prove too much for him. “If you’ll excuse me a moment,” Erica said, rising and joining Camille and Catherine who were chatting to her husband at the bar. Richard didn’t hold back the sigh of relief.

 

* * *

 

 

Erica stayed up at the bar chatting to Camille and Catherine, her husband (who knew Dwayne from ‘way back’ apparently, Richard suspected Dwayne knew everyone on the island) ended up drinking with Dwayne and Fidel and Richard found himself blessedly alone at his table, able to nurse his whisky and occasionally risk glances at the mother and baby. He still hadn’t gotten a good look at the thing now it was gunk free. Also, he supposed it would be polite to find out the name. He wondered if he was supposed to buy a gift. He’d ask Camille, she knew that sort of thing…and would probably volunteer to buy it for him if he looked pathetic enough. He was actually a little concerned by the way she and Erica kept looking at him and muttering amongst themselves. A few minutes earlier they had been frowning at Camille’s phone as she looked something up.

“Richard,” Camille called across the bar suddenly. “Do you have a middle name?”

“Ian,” he said, unsure as to why she was asking but not seeing in harm in telling her. “Why?”

“There isn’t a female version of Richard,” she said, coming over and being trailed by Erica and the baby. “Well, there are, but they are a bit weird.”

Richard took the opportunity to more closely observe the sleepy child. Yes, he supposed they were quite cute. Especially the little nose, all wrinkled up. He smiled at the baby without really thinking about it, and looked back up to find both women giving him identical grins. “What?” He asked.

“Nothing,” Camille said innocently. Too innocently.

“Why would you need a female version of Richard anyway?” Camille gave him a look like he was an idiot, whilst Erica looked a little embarrassed.

“Well, you did deliver her, I thought it would be nice to name her after you,” she explained.

“Oh no,” said Richard in a rush. “No, no really you don’t have to do that. It’s fine. Don’t feel, like, obligated or something, I was just doing my job. You should use whatever name you have picked out before.”

“Well it is _exactly_ something you do every day, like a midwife,” Erica persisted. “Besides, I have had four other kids and used up all the names, Jack and I were just going to decide based on what this little one looked like. Naming her after you really is appropriate. But I am afraid those female versions of Richard are out…”

Camille was frowning, “Is there a female version of Ian though?”

Richard was going to point out that Ian was derived from Eoin, the Irish for John, a name for which there were many female versions, but he still wasn’t comfortable with the idea of the child being named after him and so said, “No, no I don’t think there is. In fact I know there isn’t.”

“Oh,” said Erica, jiggling the baby a little and looking dissapointed. “Will we _ever_ find you a name?”

Camille looked thoughtful, “Well if you can’t name her after Richard maybe you should name it after his other great love…” Richard held his breath, too terrified of what Camille might be about to say to protest about her implication he loved himself. “…London.”

Richard tried not to think too hard about the relief hearing that word sent flooding through him. Instead he made a face, who would call a child _London_?

“London,” Erica repeated back, seeming to seriously consider the idea. “Do you think it’s a girl’s name?” This, for reasons he did not understand, was directed at him.

“Well, it isn’t a male _or_ female name,” he said truthfully. He was about to provide them with further information about the confused etymology of London but Erica started talking again.

“No, I suppose it isn’t, so why shouldn’t I call her London? You know I quite like it, very original. I’m going to check with Jack!”

To his amazement, it seemed from a distance Jack also approved of the name London. Richard couldn’t believe he was responsible for a girl being sent out into the world named after the city he was from. “But London isn’t a name,” he said somewhat pointlessly. “You can’t name a baby London!”

Camille rolled her eyes at him, “Sure you can. Besides, I quite like it too. It’s original, you know?” He just stared at her in disbelief. “It’s a good strong name,” she persisted. “Come on Richard, she has four older brothers and sisters, an original name like that will make her feel special.” He supposed she had a point there. “Besides,” she said with a small smile. “It’s not nearly as bad as having RIP for initials…”

 

**Author's Note:**

> First of all, I apologise to any readers who have given birth – I have not, and I am sure this story is incredibly inaccurate. 
> 
> Secondly, my Father was my grandmother’s fifth child and she had run out of names by then. She tried to name him after the midwife, but she had a female name that couldn’t be made into a male name, so instead he was named after the village where she was from. Thus that part of the story is not as inaccurate as it may sound! 
> 
> Thirdly, I promise to work on all those other stories I have on the go soon and stop writing 4000 odd word fics with strange themes that don’t really go anywhere.


End file.
